


Teacher's Pet

by Wiz_is_bored



Category: Hatchetfield Universe - Team StarKid, The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: COVID-19, Gen, Paul is confused, Quarantine, Rated teen for language, This was meant to be a comedy, as always, but i always seem to end up just making them be emotionally honest, i'll update the character tags as it goes on, literally just an excuse for me to write emma and hidgens' weird dynamic, neither hidgens or emma are straight and you cant convince me otherwise, no beta we die like 2020 good riddance, random hyjinks with no real plot, they just care about each other ok
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:33:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24813124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wiz_is_bored/pseuds/Wiz_is_bored
Summary: Hidgens offers Emma a place to stay while Hatchetfeild goes on lockdown due to the pandemic. Hyjinks ensue.
Relationships: Henry Hidgens & Emma Perkins, Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 27
Kudos: 52





	1. the Safest Place, and Maybe the Only Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is going to be short and relatively heavy compared to other chapters because im just setting up the premise here. also, want to mention that im a british teenager so my understanding of the covid situation in america is not 100%. this fic is in no way meant to be taken seriously.

_BZZZT_

"Who's there?!"

The professor's voice is demanding, even a little panicked. Emma rolls her eyes; he knew she was coming. He’s known for a good few hours now.

“It’s me? Emma Perkins? You know, I said I’d bring you groceries?”  
“Oh! Yes, of course. Hold on, Emma, I’ll let you in.”  
“No- Professor, I’m just going to leave the bag here, we’re not supposed to-”  
“Emma, I insist, come inside! It isn’t _safe_ out there!”

Of course. Of course Professor Hidgens is freaking out about this. It's a shame really; if he wasn't so scared he'd be loving this, Emma realises. An excuse to stay shut inside, not even leaving for his job? Sounds like his personal idea of heaven. But unfortunately he thinks it's the apocalypse.

"I have a mask, Professor. I'm-"  
"It's not enough! I am the only one in this town capable of achieving a true state of quarantine, this is the safest place for you! I have enough supplies to last us both years, with no risk of any contamination."  
"What? Are you asking me to move in with you?"  
He pauses. "Yes. I am. For what it's worth, Emma, I do care about you. I know I would sleep easier if I knew you were safe."

"I… I don't know," Emma responds, trying to hide her relief. She never expected the prospect of being stuck in a house with her kooky, reclusive biology professor to bring her relief, but when was the last time that something happened how she expected?  
"Emma, please. Keep an old man company, eh? I'd hate for you to have to spend this crisis alone in your apartment."  
The woman pretends to think for a moment. "...Okay. I'll stay with you, just give me some time to go home and pack some clothes."  
"Excellent!"  
"You're… You're sure about this, professor?"  
"Yes, of course."  
"Alright. Thanks, Professor. I'll leave these groceries here."

* * *

Emma's rucksack from her backpacking days is still stuffed in the back of her wardrobe, and it doesn't take much effort to fit all of her clothes into it. Other essentials and small possessions are packed into the smaller backpack she uses for college. The rest - utensils, sheets, her old one-man tent - are thrown into a bin bag, all the food in her kitchen in another.

Four bags. She sits on her bed and stares at them. She's been back in this fucking town almost a year, and yet her whole apartment fits into four bags. When she came home she told herself it was for good, or at least until she finished college. She acted like it, in some ways; rented a place, enrolled in college, bought a beat up old car. But now she realises that she never fully stopped living like she's only sticking around in one place for a month or two, just long enough to earn money for the supplies needed to fuck off down another backpacking trail. She's been ready to get the fuck out of Hatchetfeild from the day she came back.

Sighing and grabbing the two bin bags, she stands up. It's only then that she notices that she's thrown her day-to-day boots into her rucksack out of habit, leaving her hiking boots by the door. She only lets that distract her for a moment; Emma can ponder what all this says about her mental state later. For now, she just pulls on the battered leather boots, relieved that her lack of possessions means it'll be easy to store the stuff she doesn't need in the boot of her car.

* * *

_BZZZT_

"Who's there?!"  
"Emma. Again."  
"Oh, yes, good. Hang on, I'll let you in!"

Emma follows her professor into the house, thanking him again for letting her stay.  
"It's really no issue, Emma. My apocalypse preparations always accounted for scenarios wherein I would be able to shelter a few fellow survivors."  
"Right… Oh, I brought the food I had at home, figured there's no point letting it go to waste."  
She holds up the bag to illustrate her point. Hidgens eyes it with slight confusion.  
"Any particular reason why it's in a bin bag?"  
"I-" Emma doesn't have an answer for that. After packing away most of her apartment in a bin bag, it seemed natural to pick up another one to put the food in. "I, uh… it was just what I had to hand."  
"Very well. Here, I'll take that to the kitchen while you take your bags upstairs. The guest room is on the far right."  
"Are you sure you don't want help putting that stuff away?"  
"Yes. Go and unpack. Make yourself at home, eh?"

* * *

10:26 pm. Emma lays on top of the duvet in the small guest room in the old t-shirt she’s designated as pyjamas, staring up at the ceiling. She can’t shake the thought that she’s made a mistake.

Not because she’s been subjected to Hidgens’ terrible cooking skills. Not because she’s realised just how close he is with an amazon echo, of all things. Not because she had to retreat to bed hours earlier than she would usually to avoid watching a ‘documentary’ about trawling through historical records for evidence of alien contact with humans. No. Living with her eccentric professor is still a relief. What could be a mistake is the fact that she didn’t tell him _why_ it’s such a relief.

She hasn’t mentioned that beanies laid her off weeks ago. Didn’t say that her landlord has been less than understanding about her difficulty getting together the money to pay her rent. Failed to bring up the fact that she’s been putting off asking her brother-in-law to let her crash on his sofa, not wanting to push their already strained relationship by making him feel obligated to help her. In short, she didn’t tell Professor Hidgens that if he changed his mind about giving her a place to stay she’d most likely be sleeping in her car. This is the safest place for her, it’s true, but he doesn’t know that it might be the only place. She didn’t want to pressure him. But now she’s wondering if that was a good idea. Should she have told him?

Sighing, she reaches into the backpack beside her bed to dig out her headphones. One thing is for certain; this is going to be an interesting quarantine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> as i said in the tags this will have no real plot - just a series of stupid shit that happens. if you have any suggestions of what you want to see happen leave them in the comments or over on my tumblr @wizisbored (ill probably post doodles to do with this there too) i want to keep this stupidity going as long as i can so any inspiration is appreciated!


	2. Secret Favouritism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hidgens attempts to give an online lecture without revealing the fact that one of his students is in the same room. This does not go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cracks out GCSE biology revision guide* time for some fuckin education. not college-level education, but it’s what im going with.
> 
> I hope this is as funny as i think it is.

“Good morning, Emma!”

The woman pauses in the doorway to the dining room, still rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. "Morning, Professor," she mumbles. The man is already showered and fully dressed, sat on the old sofa watching the news. Emma wonders whether she should have done more than just throwing a hoodie over her pyjamas before coming downstairs.

"Sleep well?"

"Yeah. Thanks again for letting me stay."

The professor sighs dramatically. "Will you  _ ever _ stop thanking me?"

"I haven't said it that much," Emma protests.

"You said it about ten times yesterday evening."

"Oh,” Emma mutters, realising on reflection that he’s correct. “Right. I'll try to stop if it’s annoying."

"I just want you to feel comfortable here. But anyway, there’s cereal in the larder and milk in the fridge, help yourself to breakfast.”

“Okay, thank-  _ shit.  _ I- I’m just going to go get breakfast.”

* * *

“You know, Emma, you may be the only student in the country still able to take your classes in person.”

The woman sips her mug of the instant coffee she brought with her. “Yeah. I suppose so.” She tries to sound enthusiastic, but she’s been in the front row of the professor’s lectures before. He can be quite… passionate.

“Yes! I’ve been doing the - what’s it called... you know, the internet lessons - from the lab. So I’ll expect you there for the lecture today, it’s the room next to yours.”

“Alright then. But can you not mention to the rest of the class that I’m living here? It’d just lead to a lot of questions.”

“Certainly. Besides, that information could lead to me being accused of favouritism.”

“It wouldn’t be untrue,” Emma points out, “this  _ is  _ blatant favouritism.”

“It’s only blatant if people know about it. So in actual fact this is secret favouritism.”

“Secret favouritism,” Emma repeats with a conspiratorial smile, “I like it.”

* * *

For a while the secret favouritism goes well. Emma sits at a desk beside Hidgens’ laptop, making notes as the computer runs the video-conference software next to her and Hidgens gives his lecture. They’re almost at the end of the class, and it seems that nobody has noticed that Emma is missing from the call. That, or they simply don’t care.

Behind the professor stands a whiteboard where he scrawls diagrams and key points. Apparently he forgot about the existence of his eraser the second he started talking, simply squeezing each addition into whatever space there is available. Currently, he is adding details to a cross-section of a leaf that spans a strip through the middle of the board.

“And  _ here,”  _ he says, hurriedly adding a circle to the drawing like he’s in some kind of plant-explaining race, “is where the xylem and phloem run through the leaf.” He adds dots to the inside of the circle as if he’s trying to stab his pen through the board. “Remember, it is the  _ phloem  _ tubes that transport food substances and the  _ xylem  _ tubes that transport water.”

Unfortunately for Emma, she was so caught up in trying to keep pace with his drawing that she missed that last part. “Professor?” she asks, hoping that there’s no way for people to realise that the question didn’t come from Hidgens’ laptop, “Sorry, can you repeat that thing about the phloem and the xylem?”

Professor Hidgens twirls around to face the desk. For a moment he locks eyes with Emma, then quickly adjusts his gaze to the computer screen. “The phloem tubes transport food,” he repeats, never taking his eyes off the laptop, “and the xylem tubes transport water.”

“And how do you spell them?”

Breaking his staring contest with the computer, the man turns to face his student with disapproval on his face. “Really, Emma. I just wrote them on the board.”

Turning back to the board, he leaves Emma to copy down the terms and hope nobody noticed him looking at her.

“Hey, Emma? I think you’ve got your camera off.” The voice from the laptop sounds sceptical.  _ Well shit,  _ Emma thinks.

“It’s broken.” She explains briefly. For a few minutes only Hidgens speaks as he draws in the details of the spongy mesophyll tissue. And then: “Emma, are you actually on the call?!”

She sighs. Of course  _ someone _ is bored enough to check.

“Well, yeah? How else would I be talking to you?”

“According to my computer, you’re not here.”

“Dunno what to tell you. I’m here.”

“Quiet down, please,” Hidgens calls over his shoulder. “You must be experiencing a software error, Jason, Emma is on the call. I can see her.”

“I thought her camera was broken!” someone else calls out. Emma silently facepalms. Though, if she’s honest, this is going about as well as she expected.

“He means he can see I’m on the call. I don’t know why you’re so bothered.”

“I must agree,” the professor chimes in. “This issue is of very little importance. Now, can we get back to the structure of the leaf, please!”

His request is largely ignored. It’s hard to blame the class; the mystery of why Emma isn’t showing up on the call is the most exciting thing to have happened to them in weeks. It’s certainly more exciting than leaves.

“Is she showing up on anyone else’s screen?” whispers a voice from the laptop.

_ “Really?”  _ Emma says. A chorus of “nope,” “not on mine,” “nah,” rises from the speakers. A few students are trying to contain laughter.

“Are you determined to derail this lecture, Jason?” Hidgens snaps.

“This is a scientific inquiry, Professor. I’m gathering data.”

Emma rolls her eyes. This guy isn't going to give up. She flips to a fresh page of her notebook, writes down a message and, after a moment’s thought, adds a question to the end. Holding it up, she coughs to get the professor’s attention. He reads it quickly.

_ They’re not going to give up with this,  _ it says.  _ Should we just mess with them? _

For a moment the man considers his options. On one hand, he needs to deliver this content to the class. But on the other, his students have already lost focus, and this is a chance to perform.

“If you are conducting a scientific enquiry,” he says casually as he returns to his diagram, drawing noticeably slower, “then you need a hypothesis.”

The student, Jason, is silent for a moment. “I think… I think- Ok, hypothesis: Emma is actually hiding in the lab and you’re covering for her.”

The class erupts in laughter. Emma can’t help laughing along; the guy was clearly trying to think of the stupidest theory he could, and yet stumbled onto the correct answer.

“And what experiments do you plan on carrying out to prove your hypothesis?”

Jason falls silent. Taking this opportunity, another classmate speaks up.

“Hey, Emma, you on board to comply with the experiment?” She asks.

“You know what? Sure. Prove I’m hiding in Hidgens’ lab,” Emma answers. Granted, this may lead to a lot of questions, but this ‘scientific inquiry’ seems a lot more interesting than pretending not to be somewhere.The professor sees her grinning out of the corner of his eye.

“Alright then, here’s the experiment. Emma, keep asking stupid questions. Eventually he’ll slip and look at wherever it is you’re hiding.”

“Can do.”

Emma lets the lecture continue uninterrupted for a minute as Hidgens adds the epidermal tissue to his sketch. “And these here are the guard cells.”

“What’s a guard cell?”

Hidgens turns, very deliberately looking at the computer screen. “I’m just about to explain that.” He turns back to the board. “The guard cells control the opening and closing of the stomata in response to-”

“What’s a stomato?”

He turns to face the laptop once again, but is careful to throw a glare towards an empty corner of the room first.

“The  _ stomata  _ are holes in the leaf which allow carbon dioxide to-”

“What’s carbon dioxide?”

Dramatically twirling to face that same corner, he sternly says “that’s enough, Emma.”

The class takes the bait. “She’s in the back corner!” “You just looked right at her!” “Ha! Caught you out, Professor!” With a smirk, Hidens spins the laptop around to allow the webcam to view the empty corner. “Try again!”

* * *

In the remaining ten minutes of the lecture the Professor manages to convince the class that Emma is under the desk, standing just out of frame beside him, and even behind his whiteboard. With only a few minutes left, Emma writes another message in her notebook.

_ Fuck it, let them get it right. _

And, once she’s sure he’s read it, she calls out her stupidest question yet.

“Professor, what is water?”

“What is-  _ water, Emma?” _

He stares straight at her with the most enraged expression he can muster. She struggles to contain her laughter; she had no idea that her professor had such a flair for the dramatic. “This is simply ridiculous. I don’t know why I’m letting you hide in my lab!”

The woman lets the class laugh and call out for a few minutes, then grabs the laptop herself and spins it to face her.

“You got it eventually.”

Chaos ensues. Nobody  _ actually  _ thought she was in the lab, and the revelation that she was there the whole time is explosive. Some just laugh, some are yelling in triumph, many are asking questions.

“Why?” Jason chokes through his laughter, “why the fuck are you in his house?!”

She shrugs. "I came to give him groceries and he decided to, I dunno, adopt me? I’m literally a teacher’s pet now."

"God, you’re like a nerd's final form.”

“Yep. I’ve ascended. But anyway, it’s the end of the lecture. Congrats on proving your hypothesis.”

And, with most of the class still either laughing or loudly asking what the fuck is going on, she ends the call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> would the class actually be this invested in proving Emma is hiding in the lab? I have no idea. oh well.
> 
> thanks for reading :)


	3. Accidental Soup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> all of the best emotional honesty is had while trying to make a simple stew with someone just as terrible at cooking as you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am making emma so much of a mess in this fic and i am living for it.

"Never let me near the stove again," Emma says as she attempts to scrub the burnt food out of a saucepan. She's insisted that she cleans up her own mess, so Hidgens is standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning on the counter as he sips his tea.

“Remind me what it is you were _attempting_ to achieve here,” he says.

“I dunno, some stew recipe I found online. It was supposedly easy, but apparently I’m slower at chopping things up than I thought and everything just kind of went to shit.”

“Understandable.”

Hidgens is silent for a moment, contemplating his guest. “You don’t cook that much, do you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

“The fact that at least half of the food you brought with you on Tuesday was boil-in-the-bag expedition rations. It is a sensible thing to have and I am always open to more long-lasting food, but it is not the kind of thing I would expect the average student to own.”

The scrubbing pauses. Emma isn’t just kicking herself, she’s mentally beating herself to a pulp. Of fucking course he’d notice that, people don’t just _have_ that much hiking food, even if they like backpacking. Especially if they haven’t hiked in a year.

“I, uh… they’re leftovers. From last year.”

“It’s a _lot_ of leftovers.”

“Well, I thought I’d be on the trail for a lot longer, so…” She glances over her shoulder, and that’s enough to tell her that he’s not convinced in the slightest. She sighs. “Yeah, alright, you got me, I’ve been buying them in bulk online. I like them, alright? They’re good, in a… non-perishable, easy-to-carry sort of way?” Another glance, he still looks unconvinced. She grabs a tea towel to dry the pan, keeping her back to him. “That was a lie. A shitty lie, those bags are shit, but I’m used to them. They’re familiar and they’re easy and I cannot cook for shit so sometimes when I’m tired and just can’t be fucking arsed I just chuck one in a pan and…”

_And I pretend I never came back here._

She turns to face him again. “And I’m thinking that maybe I should learn how to make something a bit better. Hence my attempt at contribution to this household via stew. But that didn’t really go to plan.”

“Well, just because it didn’t go to plan doesn’t mean you should give up on it entirely,” Hidgens states, taking the now-dry pan from her hands and placing it back on the stove. “Where’s the recipe?”

Emma is taken a little off guard by this, but pulls her phone from her pocket and re-opens the web page. Taking the device, the professor skims the page briefly. “Now, I will warn you, I cannot- what was it you said? About being able to cook?”

“That I can’t cook for shit?”

“That’s it, yes. I cannot cook for shit either.”

“Not to be rude, Professor, but yeah. I know.”

He nods solemnly. “But perhaps, with our combined efforts, we can make a solid attempt to improve.”

* * *

“Professor, we have encountered a problem.”

“We haven’t even started.”

“Yeah and I don’t know if we’re going to be able to. I burnt that pack of sausages to a crisp and we don’t have any more.”

“That is a problem.” He crosses the room to look over her head into the fridge, calling “Alexa, add sausages to the shopping list!” on his way over. He considers the contents of the fridge for a moment. “Ah, but it is solvable.” Reaching over her shoulder, he plucks a pack of bacon from a shelf. “I believe this will be a sufficient substitute.”

Emma eyes the bacon skeptically. “I guess that _could_ work?"

"I'm certain that it will; they are both pork products, are they not?"

“You have a point there.” She takes the packet from his hand to begin chopping it up as Hidgens picks up an onion, before quickly reconsidering and settling for peeling the carrots instead. Emma managed to get a few of the vegetables cut during her first attempt, but there’s still a few to get done.

* * *

“Are you alright, Emma? You seem preoccupied.”

Emma looks up from the tomato she’s chopping. “Uh, yeah, well, I think there’s something I maybe should have mentioned to you earlier.”

“What, that the bacon is about to burn?” he asks, peering into the pan.

_“Shit.”_ Opening the nearest draw, she fails to locate a pair of tongs and reasons that a spoon will do. Upon beginning to scoop the bacon out of the pan she realises that she didn’t pick up anything to put it in, but dumping it into the pan’s lid will work, right?

“I meant something I should have told you on Tuesday,” she clarifies as the battles with the spoon and bacon. The meat seems to be avoiding the utensil like the plague.

“So what is it you wanted to tell me?” Hidgens asks as he takes the tongs from another drawer and holds them out to her. She takes them with a “thanks” and a realisation that she could have just asked him where they were in the first place.

“Well, you know I had a job in a coffee shop before quarantine, right?”

“Had?”

“Yeah, apparently baristas aren’t essential.”

“Bullshit.”

She shrugs. “It’s fair enough, people don’t _need_ caffeine addictions. But… I guess I was even less essential because they laid me off. Can you pass me the garlic and oil?”

“What reason did they give?” Hidgens asks as he passes over the ingredients. He seems annoyed. Emma isn’t sure if it’s at her old boss or at her for not telling him.

“Some waffle about ‘unprecedented times’ and all that. But- shit!” She jumps back as the burning oil spits onto her arm. “Ignore that. But that’s not the real issue here, it’s my landlord.”

“Let me guess. You couldn’t pay rent.”

“Bingo. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to put you on the spot, but I was officially evicted two days after I came here. What I’m saying is... I’m homeless.”

“Well, I have many things I would like to say to both your boss and landlord but I fear none would be productive. So I’ll just say this: thank you for telling me.”

Emma nods and turns to pick up the chopped vegetables on the counter behind her, relieved to have gotten this off her chest but not wanting to linger on it. The Professor seems to pick up on this, not speaking as he helps transfer the vegetables into the pan.

“Are you sure this pan is big enough?” Emma asks. Looking at the recipe before she started, she thought that there were quite a few vegetables in this thing. She was correct.

“I’m almost positive that it isn’t.” Hidgens admits. He opens a cupboard and begins to rummage. “Oh, Emma?” He calls over his shoulder over the clanging and crashing of metal as he searches, “don’t think of yourself as homeless. You have a home here, whenever you need it.”

“Thank you, Professor, but-”

“No, no buts,” he says as he pulls out a pan noticeably smaller than the first that he confidently sets down on the stove. Placing his hands on Emma’s shoulders he sternly states, “I have taken you in, Emma, whether you like it or not.”

It takes a moment for her to come up with a response to that.

“Um, I’m pretty sure that is kidnapping,” she points out, then gestures to the second pan. “Also, how is that going to help?”

“We don’t have a bigger pan.” He starts to transfer some of the stew into the second pan. “And if that _is_ kidnapping, well, consider yourself kidnapped.”

* * *

Attempting to divide the rest of the vegetables proportionately between the three variously-sized pans that they end up using is… a challenge. Fortunately, they manage it. Just about. But this situation brings up another issue. Checking the recipe, Emma realises that she has no clue how many people this stew is meant to feed, and it seems that they are on the way to having far too much for two people. However, she reasons that this isn’t a major issue; they’ll just have leftovers. A _lot_ of leftovers.

“So now it’s the sau- the _bacon,_ the water, and the beans. Wow, that is a shit-ton of beans.”

Hidgens peers over Emma’s shoulder at her phone. “We might not have enough butter beans, but I’m sure there’s some viable substitutions in the larder.”

Hidgens is right, for the most part. Though they may not all be the exact type stated by the instructions, he manages to gather enough cans. Emma, however, isn’t convinced.

“I don’t think we can put baked beans in it,” she says.

“Certainly we can,” Hidgens argues as he dumps the contents of a tin into one of the pans. “The stew already contains tomato purée, the sauce in the beans is similar enough.”

“Pretty sure they’re _quite_ different,” Emma retorts, pouring out another tin.

“If you really think it would be an issue we can always wash them.”

“I don’t think- Professor, we already have way too much stew. Maybe one less tin of beans would be a good thing?”

“Oh, where is your sense of adventure? Are you not curious about the results of washing baked beans?”

“Um-”

“Do you even know what kind of beans baked beans are? Does anyone know? Has anyone ever thought about it?”

“It probably says on the tin. And besides, I think we already have enough unknowns in this situation.”

“It is in the nature of a scientist to experiment, Emma! Besides, there is nothing in the recipe that forbids- ah.” He bites his lip, looking down at Emma’s phone screen.

“What?”

“Well, apparently we were supposed to drain and rinse _all_ of the beans.”

“Shit.” They’ve already emptied the rest of the cans into the pans. “In that case… maybe we should just leave out the water?”

“Leaving out the water, yes, that seems like it could work.”

“Okay, in that case we just need to-”

Emma pauses at the sound of a tin opening, and turns to see Hidgens with the can of baked beans.

“We have to use them now,” he reasons. “I’ve already opened them.”

The woman narrows her eyes. “You win this round, Professor,” she mutters.

* * *

After an hour and a half, or maybe even two, Emma looks up suddenly from her laptop.

“Did you set a timer?”

“No, I thought you did.”

_“Shit.”_

“The recipe did say it’s supposed to thicken significantly,” Hidgens points out.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be _this_ thick,” Emma replies as she stirs the largest pan. “This is soup consistency. We’ve managed to make accidental soup. A lot of accidental soup.”

“I’m sure it’ll still be edible.”

“You’re sure?”

“Well, if it isn’t, and we both die, then I’ll be quite disappointed. We did spend all evening on this, after all.”

Ladling out two bowls of ‘soup’ empties the smallest pan and puts a small dent in another, but as anticipated there are a lot of leftovers in the kitchen when the two sit down to eat. Emma is the one to take the leap of faith and try it.

“You know, this is… surprisingly average.”

“How so?”

“I honestly thought it would be terrible. It’s not fantastic, but it’s okay. That’s more than I expected.”

Hidgens gives the soup a try. “I agree. Some parts are a bit singed, but it is otherwise satisfactory.”

Emma takes another spoonful. “I think we should do this again sometime. Practice. And then maybe we’ll be able to make something actually good.”

The Professor nods. “Practice makes perfect. Or at least better.”

“And, uh, thanks for what you said about me having a home here. I really appreciate it.”

“I’ll always be willing to help you in any way you need, Emma.”

There’s silence for a while as they both eat, but eventually Emma breaks it.

“Professor-”

“Please, call me Henry. After the shared ordeal of the accidental soup I think formalities are no longer needed.”

“Alright then. Henry, what the _fuck_ are we going to do with the rest of this goddamn soup?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone is curious the recipe they were attempting to make was based on spiced bean and banger stew from the book ‘Nadiya's british food adventure’ and it’s actually really good. Some of the fuck-ups in this chapter were inspired by my own experiences making it and one experience of trying to make cookies with my friend.
> 
> thanks for reading! :)


	4. a kind-of-maybe-friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> emma runs into a familiar face while out shopping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come get yer paulkins dumbassery

It takes awhile for Emma to persuade the professor that going out for more groceries is not, in fact, the worst possible idea she could ever have. He’s eventually brought around by the fact that their resolution to get better at cooking won’t go anywhere without ingredients, and Emma promising to follow every safety guideline and then some. She would’ve gone whether he liked it or not, but she feels better knowing that the man is reassured she’ll be as safe as possible. After all, he insisted on taking her in for her own protection. The least she can do, she figures, is make sure she stays protected.

Even with her assurances, Emma doesn’t leave Hidgens’ thoughts the entire time she’s out of the house. She’s taking every measure to keep herself safe from the virus, but there’s no way of entirely eliminating the chance of contracting it. The longer the woman is away the more certain he is that he should never have let her leave. Oh god, he should never have-

_ BZZZT.  _ The door buzzer startles him from his thoughts.

"Who's there?!"

“Your pet dumpster fire.”

“Ah, Emma! You’re back!”

  
  


“So,” Hidgens says as he attempts to fit vegetables into a fridge shelf beside a number of plastic tubs of accidental soup, “how was your venture into the outside world?”

“Um… Interesting?” Emma replies from the larder. “I’d call it interesting.”

“Oh? How so?”

“Well. Most of it was pretty average, as much as things can be average right now. Got the groceries, got in line, the usual. The line was pretty long so I was there for a while. And yes, before you ask, I was six feet from the guy in front.”

Hidgens nods to himself. He trusts Emma to keep herself safe, but it’s reassuring to hear nonetheless.

“I assume there was an… Incident while you were waiting in line?”

“Not an incident, no. But something did happen.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“Keep listening, then. Let me tell you a thrilling tale…”

* * *

Emma taps her foot impatiently. She’s barely been in line for a minute and she’s already bored out of her mind. There’s nothing new on her phone so she shoves it back into her pocket and looks around for something else that could serve as a distraction. And that’s when she sees him.

The guy behind her is fucking  _ staring  _ at her. After a moment to get over the surprise she calls out to him.

“Uh, can I help you?” Her tone is clearly annoyed; who the hell is this guy?

The man jumps a little, as if snapping out of a trance. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just- do I know you from somewhere?”

Emma considers him for a moment. Now she thinks about it, there’s a bell ringing somewhere in the back of her head.

“Maybe.” She shrugs. “But, masks made it harder to recognise people. I could be anyone.”

He chuckles. “I suppose so.”

“I could be a wanted criminal, taking the opportunity to pick up supplies at a time when nobody will look twice at someone obscuring their face."

For a moment he doesn't respond, and Emma wonders if her joke completely missed the mark and this man now thinks she is insane. But, to her relief, there seems to be a smile on what she can see of his face. "You could be. Or maybe you're my long-lost sister, and I’ve finally tracked you down.”

“Maybe I’m actually your failed clone. We were never meant to meet. The universe will implode shortly.”

The man looks up at the ceiling for a few moments. “Well… the universe doesn’t appear to be imploding.”

“Damn. Guess I was wrong, then.”

“Yeah. I don’t think you’re a failed clone. I think it’s a lot more likely that you work at a coffee shop I used to go to before everything closed.”

Once he points it out the connection is obvious; the guy was a regular at beanies, she saw him almost daily. They even had short conversations a few times, not long before she was laid off.

“It’s… Paul, right? You’re the guy who doesn’t like musicals?”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s me.” The fact that Emma recognises him seems to have made his day. “And you’re Emma, you’re the barista that hates singing for tips.”

“You really recognised me from half my face?”

“I did see you pretty much every day. Honestly, I’m surprised _ you  _ recognised  _ me.” _

“You were a regular. There were five other baristas,” she teases.

“There’s got to be at least five other regulars too,” he retorts. “And, well… I’ll admit, I never talk to the other baristas.”

Emma shrugs. “That’s fair. I never liked any of them. Besides, I never talked to the other regulars, didn’t like them either.”

There’s a moment of silence between the two, Emma mentaly kicking herself for the second time in so many days. Only ever talking to one regular is definitely weirder than only ever talking to one barista.

“Well, I- Thanks, I guess. I didn’t think…” He seems flustered.

“What, you thought I was only talking to you for some bullshit customer service reason?”

“Yeah, I guess. Though, now I think about it, you aren’t really a model customer service worker.”

“You could say that again,” she agrees, reflecting on all the times Paul witnessed her flipping off customers behind their backs as they left the shop. “But, yeah. I did actually like talking to you.”

“Thanks. I like talking to you too. It’s a shame about… Everything.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

Emma considers the man. They both enjoyed talking at beanies, she was close to considering him an actual friend before they lost contact. Paul, she realises, is under the impression that they’ll be able to talk at beanies again when all this is over. Paul is wrong.

Sighing and muttering “fuck it” under her breath, she digs a crumpled receipt and a pen out of her pocket. “Beanies laid me off,” she says bluntly as she writes, “so we’re not going to be able to talk there, even after the plague. Here, catch.” She crumples the receipt up again and tosses it to him. He unfolds it, scans the note and shoves it into his pocket with a dumbfounded look on what can be seen of his face. He only came out for groceries, he never expected to end up with the cute beanies barista’s number.

* * *

“And then?”

Emma finally emerges from the larder. “And then I paid for my groceries and left. What are you grinning about?”

“Oh, nothing, nothing…”

“If you’re trying to imply that I  _ like  _ the guy-” She can tell that she’s blushing.

“Not at all, whatever gave you that impression?” He asks with a teasing smile.

“Look, he’s my kind-of-maybe-friend and, no offence, I kind of need some interaction with someone my age right now. So I gave him my number. That’s all.” She leaves the kitchen, closely followed by the professor.

“The lady doth protest too much.”

“Henry if you don’t shut up-”

“I’m only teasing, Emma. It’s nice to see you have a friend.”

“I have more than one friend.” She flops onto one of the squishy sofas in the front room, a room which is seldom used due to its main purpose being to seat guests. Hidgens doesn’t get many guests.

“Of course you do,” he says, waving his hand dismissively, clearly not believing his own words. “Now, tell me more about this Paul man.”

The professor listens intently as Emma relays what little she knows about Paul from their conversations at Beanies. She decides to leave out the fact that he would walk an extra block to the shop rather than just going to the Starbucks down the street - she doesn’t want to give Hidgens any more ammunition to take the piss. Truth is, she  _ might  _ like Paul a little, though she’s not even ready to admit that to herself yet, let alone the professor.

“Oh, and he  _ really  _ doesn’t like musicals,” she adds to the end of her explanation. “It’s not like he hates them or anything, he just…  _ intensely  _ dislikes them.”

“Oh.”

“What’s up? Is him not liking musicals an issue?”

“Oh, no, not at all, of course not.” He can tell Emma isn’t remotely convinced that wasn’t a lie, and can only hope that she doesn’t seek revenge for his teasing about Paul. She isn’t the only one not ready to admit something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me? Setting up things to build off of later as if this fic has an actual plot? I would never.
> 
> Sorry that it’s been a while but im back on my bullshit now
> 
> Thanks for reading! :)


	5. tomorrow me's problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Emma is drunk and emotional and still just so much of a mess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a content warning: alcohol use, referenced bad parent/child relationship and implied biphobia (basically emmas parents s u c k e d)
> 
> So what I’ve learnt from this and past experiences is that I am unable to write comedy without it ultimately leading to the characters talking about their emotions and relationship and such but screw it, sometimes you just gotta let them be soft. So this is me letting them be soft (and also very stupid).

The time between Emma finding out that Hidgens has a lifetime supply of alcohol in his basement and her being mildly wine-drunk is short, but in fairness to her she's always been a lightweight. She sits cross-legged on the living room floor, back against the table leg, able to find the professor's 'documentaries' much more enjoyable while intoxicated.

“‘S a mummy,” she points out, gesturing to the screen. “It’s clearly a mummy.”

Hidgens scoffs, but he’s smiling. Although her opinion is critical, the fact that his companion is engaging with the program at all is elating. “Does that  _ look  _ like a human to you?”

For a moment Emma squints at the screen, waiting for it to show the specimen in question again. “...Yes,” she confirms.

“Look at its hands, that’s not of this world!”

“People with long fingers exist, Henry. They’re a thing.”

“People with only  _ two  _ long fingers?”

“They probably broke the rest off to make it look weird. That is a fucking dessecrated corpse it did not fall from the sky.”

“Well, we’ll see about that. They’re doing a DNA test, that ought to prove it!”

Emma shakes her head. “I bet you, like… I bet five bucks that they completely gloss over the results, or say they were ‘inconclusive’ or some bullshit because they don’t want to admit it was a human person.”

“Alright, five dollars. It’s a bet.”

Emma raises her glass. “Well, here’s to you giving me five dollars!”

She drains the rest of her glass and refills it, then downs half of that too.

“You might want to slow down a bit there,” the professor warns. “How much have you had?”

“I dunno. None of your damn business.”

The man shakes his head and returns his focus to the screen. But within a few minutes his attention is diverted again.

“Who are you texting?”

Emma doesn’t look up from her phone. “Paul.”

Immediately he stands, crosses to the table in a single stride and takes the phone from her hands.

"Hey!"

"Trust me, you will thank me later.” He pockets the phone and jokingly ruffles her hair. “In this house we do  _ not  _ drunk-text men we are interested in.”

Emma frowns as she slides down to lie on the floor, but then her face lights up. “Are we allowed to drunk-text women we’re interested in?”

“No. No past or potential partners of any gender will be contacted under the influence under this roof. Current partners are on thin ice.”

“You’re no fun.”

He sits down on the sofa to return to watching the TV, but once again Emma interrupts his focus.

“Oh, shit, did I just out myself?”

Hidgens takes a sip of his drink, not looking away from the screen. “It would appear so.”

She doesn’t reply, prompting him to glance in her direction. The woman is eyeing him nervously, an unspoken question clear on her face.

“Emma, let it be known that I have no problem with who you pursue a relationship with, so long as you are  _ not  _ texting them whilst drunk.”

“Boring. But... thanks.” She thinks for a moment, then stands, picks up her glass and bottle and sits down on the sofa beside the man.

“Are you just getting closer so you can try to get your phone back?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

"Leave me alone, I'm drunk and emotional.”

This causes him to pause. “Good emotional or bad emotional?”

Emma shrugs. Not knowing what else to say, Hidgens opts to put an arm around her shoulders and, to his surprise, she leans against him.

“Tired?”

“No, just fuckin’... Fucking touch starved I guess. Honestly, did  _ not  _ expect I’d be coming to  _ you _ for comfort but-” she pauses, then groans. The mental self beat down is back. “God, I just keep exposing how much of a mess I am, huh?”

“Yes,” he agrees. Emma draws her knees up to her chest, not meeting Hidgens’ eyes. “Not that that’s a bad thing,” he quickly adds, “life is always going to be messy, in fact I find people who claim to have their life in order rather suspicious.”

“So, I... I’m never going to be too much of a mess?”

Hidgens looks down at Emma curled up beside him. Though her face is flushed from the alcohol, he can tell from her expression that the question is genuine. He has to hold back a sigh; she’s  _ still  _ insecure about her place here? “Of course not,” he says. “A pet dumpster fire is for life, not just for quarantine.”

She smiles as he ruffles her hair. “Well I guess if I’ve achieved nothing else I can at least say that  _ someone  _ wants me around. ‘Cause, well, I was what you’d call a ‘problem child’. Definitely not the favourite. Though that wasn’t hard, couldn’t really blame ‘em, Jane was fucking perfect, wasn’t she?” She’s still smiling as she says this, like it’s all a big joke. For a moment she waits for a response, before realising, “oh shit, you don’t know about Jane do you?”

“I can’t say I do.”

“Well she was my sister and she actually had her shit together, which is something I’ve never achieved. Parents were a lot prouder of her and it…” The smile falters slightly. “God, it fuckin’ showed. I was always doing  _ something  _ wrong, you know? Grades too low, me too high, girlfriend too… Girl.”

"I… I understand."

"I was too much of a mess for them, and too much of a few other things too, and there were a few times that I felt like maybe… maybe they didn't want me around. But, you know what? You fuckin' know what? Screw 'em. I don't miss 'em."

"Screw them indeed." It’s not the most profound of responses, but Emma grins nonetheless.

The professor decides not to pry further. He decides not to point out the fact that she talks about her sister in the past tense. He decides instead to hold her a little closer, chalking up her nestling into the embrace to too much wine. It’s an easy assumption to make; she’s beginning to slur her words at this point.

“Henry?” She mumbles. “Thanks.”

“What for?”

“Just… thanks.”

* * *

For a while they stay like that, Emma occasionally breaking the silence to mock the documentary still playing on the TV, but soon Hidgens notices her eyelids beginning to droop. The documentary’s credits are scrolling. Checking his watch, he realises that it’s well past midnight. He nudges her gently with his shoulder.

"Come on, Emma, it's late. You need to get to bed."

"Nooo," the woman groans. Being drunk is just too fun, even if you do end up oversharing a bit.

"Yes."

"Professorrr…"

"Yes, Emma?"

"Henryyy…"

"Yes, Emma?"

"Don't want to go to bed."

"Well you need to. Come on, let's get you some water."

"No. I'm an adult, I make my own decisions, and I'm going to decide to… drink more wine!"

She raises her half-full glass as if in a toast and downs the rest in one as she reaches down to grab the bottle from the floor, but before she can refill it Hidgens takes the bottle and glass from her hands and stands to stow them safely out of reach on the top shelf. Emma flops onto her side in his absence, folding her arms and pouting. Turning and seeing this childish display of disapproval he sighs, a half-smile on his face.

"You are acting the least like an adult that I have ever seen you," he remarks.

"Bullshit."

"You're going to be embarrassed by your behaviour tomorrow morning."

"Too late to prevent that now. And anyway, that's tomorrow me's problem."

"Yes, well it will also be your problem tomorrow when your hangover is far worse than it would have been if you had drunk some water."

"But I'm not tomorrow me," she points out smugly, as if she's toppled his entire argument. Which, of course, she thinks she has.

"You’re being nonsensical.”

“I’m fuckin’ drunk, don’t look too deep into it.” She shifts into a more comfortable position and shuts her eyes.

“Are you planning on sleeping on the sofa?”

“I might.”

“Have you forgotten that you have a bed?”

“Ugh, my bed is  _ upstairs  _ though. That’s fucking effort.”

“Well, I’m going to bed now and I’m not letting you stay down here all night in this state. Come on, we’re getting you some water and then we’re  _ both _ going to bed.”

Eventually Emma is persuaded to relocate to the kitchen, attempting several times to hop up to sit on the countertop before giving up and taking a seat on the tiled floor. She refuses to take the glass of water that Hidges offers her.

“Ew.”

“Ew?”

“Ew.”

“Emma, it’s water.”

“It’s ew.”

“You just don’t want to sober up, do you?”

She grins, flashing him a thumbs-up. “You fuckin’... fuckin’ know it.”

The man pinches the bridge of his nose, sighing. “It’s two AM, Emma, why am I doing this?”

Emma shrugs. “Beats me. Go to bed, I’ll sleep on the floor, it’s cool.”

With that, she leans back against the dishwasher and shuts her eyes.

"G'night, Henry."

"You are not sleeping there. You'll wake up stiff."

"Again, ‘s tomorrow me's problem."

"I'll carry you upstairs if I have to."

"I'd like to see you try, old man!"

Said old man shakes his head. "Now, Emma. That's just rude."

"Sssorry."

"Sorry enough to drink this and go to bed?"

The drunk woman opens her eyes, staring down at the tiles as she thinks.

"Why d'you care so much?" she mumbles eventually.

"Pardon?"

"Like, I get that you actually want me around, but I know I'm being a pain. You don't… you don’t  _ have  _ to deal with my bullshit right now."

Leaving the glass on the counter, Hidgens crouches down to Emma's level. "Emma?" She doesn't look away from the tiles, even when he rests a hand on her shoulder. "Em, look at me?"

She sluggishly raises her head to meet his eyes.

"Now, I'm not sure how much of this will get through to you, given your…  _ state,  _ but I want you to understand that I…" He hesitates, searching for the right words.  _ Why  _ do interpersonal relationships have to be so complicated and difficult to explain?

"Emma, I know we joke about me having kidnapped you, and you being my 'pet dumpster fire' but I want you to know that, all jokes aside, I  _ care.  _ I care about your wellbeing and I want what's best for you and I'm  _ not  _ going to let you sleep on the floor, okay? Regardless of what experiences you may have had in the past I want you to know that here and now people care about you."

Emma takes a moment to process this.

“...Oh.”

The professor stands and offers her the glass again, and this time she doesn’t protest. They spend a few moments in silence as she slowly drinks.

“Ready for bed now?”

She groans. “Don’t want to.”

“Come on, up you get!”

“Fine, fine.”

After her first failed attempt to get off the floor she admits defeat, raising her arms towards Hidgens. “Help?” Without hesitation he grabs her under the arms and hauls her to her feet with a strength that immediately makes her reconsider whether he could carry her upstairs if needed. It’s not needed, though she stumbles a few times while walking down the hallway. Hidgens decides to accompany her to her room, partially so he can catch her if she falls over and partially to ensure she actually goes to bed rather than passing out on the floor. Now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure when he went from considering the smallest room the guest room to thinking of it as Emma’s, but it’s a distinction he’s not opposed to.

Since Emma moved in, Hidgens has entered her room maybe two or three times at most; he’s been trying to make sure she has her own space. Because of this, he hasn’t realised that she never fully unpacked. The clothes that have been worn and washed since she’s arrived have been put away, but the battered-looking rucksack leant against the bedpost is still half-full, the sleeve of a jumper hanging out. Stationary and her laptop litter the desk and a few articles of clothing are strewn across the floor.

“‘M sorry I made such a mess,” Emma says as she almost trips over her own backpack. “I, uh… I’m not that great at ‘tidy’.” Taking a seat on the unmade bed, she looks up at the professor. “There. I fuckin’... I fuckin’ went to bed.”

Resting his hand on his hips, Hidgens gives the woman a hard stare. “Emma.”

She continues to stare in silence for a moment, blinking slowly, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“What?”

“You need to-” He cuts himself off with a sigh as he takes in just how out-of-it Emma looks. Hoping it will help prompt her to settle, he pulls the duvet over her legs. “You need to sleep.”

She looks down at the blanket now covering her lap, and after a moment pulls her hands out from under it to drum briefly on its surface, finishing this performance by slamming both hands into the duvet together.

“Too hot,” she states, looking up at Hidgens again.

“You’re… too hot…” He repeats.  _ She’s drunk,  _ he reminds herself,  _ of course she’s being irrational. Again.  _ “You can just take off your jumper, Emma.”

After staring down at her sleeves for a few moments, seemingly attempting to work out the answer to a complex question, she gives up and raises her arms again.

“Removing a jumper is not a difficult task, Emma.”

Flapping her arms up and down so that her sleeves slip over her hands, she fixes him with a look that attempts to communicate something to the effect of  _ 'can’t you see I’m struggling here?’ _ “Too drunk,” she explains. Hidgens can't help but give a small smile at that.

"Alright, you convinced me. Arms up."

He tugs off the jumper and turns to roughly fold it and drape it over the back of her desk chair. When he looks back she’s still sitting up, looking like she’s about to fall asleep like that.

“So? Are you going to sleep now?”

The woman holds eye contact as she sticks her arms out either side of her and flops onto her back, bouncing slightly on the mattress and hitting her head on the headboard with an audible  _ bonk. _ She makes no effort to move into a more comfortable position, staring up at Hidgens. He half-heartedly shakes his head. “I'm not tucking you in,” he jokes.

Furrowing her brow and narrowing her eyes, she mumbles, “bullshit.”

The man sighs.  _ Drunk and irrational,  _ he reminds himself. Perhaps this will help her settle faster. And, well… perhaps it will reinforce what he told her earlier. The last thing he wants to do is deny her comfort when she wants it. “Alright, you got me. Will you go to sleep if I do?”

A smile comes over Emma’s face and she shuffles into a more comfortable position. “Yeah.”

He pulls the duvet up over her shoulders and, not quite sure how to proceed, gives her a gentle pat on the head for good measure.

“Okay?”

“Yeah.”

"I'm going to go now. Get some sleep."

"Okay."

The professor is halfway through the door when Emma calls out to him.

"Hey, Henry?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for uhhh… Thanks for listening to all my family bullshit."

"It's no issue, Emma. Anytime you need to vent, I'll be happy to listen."

Emma smiles. “You know, a lot of people are arseholes,” she mumbles, near inaudible. “You’re not an aresehole, though.”

“Um… Thank you?”

“Ya welcome. G’night.”

“Goodnight.”

* * *

Subtlety has never been Professor Hidgens’ strong suit. Nevertheless, he attempts to be as quiet as possible when he enters Emma’s room and picks his way through the mess to reach the bedside table. But despite his best efforts, the woman stirs and rubs at her eyes as he sets the glass of water down on the tabletop.

“Uh… Morning, Henry?” She seems confused, borderline alarmed to see the man in her room.

“Good morning, Emma. Sorry to intrude, I was just coming in to leave some water and ibuprofen.”

“God, yes please.” She props herself up on one elbow, holds her hand out for the pills and tosses them into her mouth before sluggishly reaching for the glass.

“You drank a lot last night,” he comments as she takes a long swig and puts the glass back down.

“Yeah, fuckin’ tell me about it.”

“Do you remember much of it?”

She takes a moment to think, then flops back onto the mattress and slowly rolls over to face the wall.  _ "Shiiiiit." _

"I'll take that as a yes, then?"

"I was such a fucking dumbass."

"You were intoxicated, I will not hold it against you."

"Please say I'm remembering wrong and I didn't fucking ask you to tuck me in..."

"Not directly."

"Fuck's sake. I, uh… sorry about that."

“It’s fine, Emma. Honestly.”

She looks around at the sound of him setting something else down on the table. Her phone, and… a banknote?

“What’s this for?” she asks, holding up the five dollar bill.

“DNA test was inconclusive, you won.”

“Sweet.”

She picks her phone up as Hidgens turns to leave. “Oh, shit.”

“What’s wrong?!”

“I’ve got a shit-ton of messages… from Paul?”

Hidgens relaxes a little. “Boyfriend being clingy?” he teases.

“Not my boyfriend,” Emma replies for what seems like the hundredth time. “Seems like drunk me managed to send something before you intervened.”

“Oh dear.”

“No, no, don’t worry, it’s actually kind of funny.”

He takes the phone from her outstretched hand.

Emma’s drunk-text reads:

**Hey, did i mention ive been kidnapped by my biology professor. I live in his house now :)**

And apparently this alarmed Paul, as he replied with a long string of texts.

**What??**

**Emma are you ok?**

**Emma???**

**Em can you reply I’m kind of scared**

**Ok I’m 90% sure this is a joke but can you please tell me if you’re actually ok**

**Ok maybe 80% sure**

“You really scared the man,” Hidgens comments as he scrolls through the pages of messages.

“I kinda feel bad.”

He hands the phone back. “Well. If you can make sure your boyfriend doesn’t call the police on me I’ll make you some toast. Deal?”

“Deal. And he’s still not my boyfriend.”

“Of course not.”

He’s halfway through the door when Emma calls out to him. “Hey, thanks for not leaving me on the kitchen floor.”

“You’re welcome. Do you remember what I told you? In the kitchen?”

“Yeah. I do.”

“Good.”

The door closes behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the only smart character in tgwdlm - all of her brain cells = really fucking fun to write apparently


End file.
